


The Deepest Magick

by d0g-bless (d0gbless)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-10 05:55:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13496210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d0gbless/pseuds/d0g-bless
Summary: To the average human, Pidge’s storefront appears to be a dispensary called Pidge’s Pot. Those who possess the Sight, however, see through the glamour and instead see Pidge’s Potions.Her human customers see rows and rows of hemp growing in pots and jars before they approach the counter. Pidge’s otherworldly patrons See overgrown rare herbs, jars of potion ingredients, and bubbling brews.But when he approaches the counter, Pidge can’t tell what he is, exactly. He’s a tall, muscular man, wearing long sleeves in the middle of summer. The way he holds himself makes Pidge think he’s a military man—or was in the military. His expression makes her certain of it. His steel-colored eyes swirl with waking nightmares.Then she realizes: He is a human with the Sight.(Written for the Shidge Valentines Exchange.)





	The Deepest Magick

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Everyday_Im_Preaching](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Everyday_Im_Preaching/gifts).



> I hope you like it, preaching!

A middle-aged man with watering red-rimmed eyes approaches the counter. He looks left and right, as though some monster is hot on his trail. “Hey, do you have the stuff?” His hoarse voice is hushed. He opens his jacket and slips out a $50 bill. He slides it toward the girl manning the register. Or rather, the girl who _should_ be manning the register instead of reading a dusty old tome with yellowing pages. He squints as he tries to read the title. It must be an ancient book, as he can’t make heads or tails of the title.

She peers up from her book and raises a thick eyebrow. “The stuff?”

The suspicious man nods vigorously, then yelps. “Something just rubbed against my foot! I didn’t do nothing, I swear!”

The girl—no, a young woman—flashes a sly smile. “Sorry, that’d be my cat.” Sure enough, a black cat leaps up on the counter and gives a content purr. The young lady takes the bill and gives him $50 worth of an herbal mixture. “Also, we’re in Colorado. You don’t have to act like it’s illegal here.” She pushes up her glasses and goes back to reading her book.

His nervous laughter sounds like the bray of a donkey. “I’ll be sure to give Pidge’s Pot a good review on Yelp.”

She doesn’t bother to look up at the customer. She shakes her head, half-pitying the pathetic human as she studies a new potion for her magickal customers.

* * *

To the average human, Pidge’s storefront appears to be a dispensary called Pidge’s Pot. Those who possess the Sight, however, see through the glamour and instead see Pidge’s Potions.

Her human customers see rows and rows of hemp growing in pots and jars before they approach the counter. Pidge’s otherworldly patrons See overgrown rare herbs, jars of potion ingredients, and bubbling brews.

“Miss, do you have anything for curing lycanthropy?” A young man scratches what looks like a nasty dog bite on his arm. “I haven’t gone through the Change yet, but I want to stop it before it could start.” He tugs on his short black ponytail. If he were to let his hair down, he would’ve had a very slight mullet. Not an unattractive one, Pidge notes.

Pidge holds up an index finger. “One second.” She scuttles to the back room and searches through her less-than-organized drawers of herbs. “Wolfsbane, wolfsbane… Dammit, where’s my wolfsbane?”

“It’s over here.” Pidge whips her head around. The voice belongs to the cat who startled her first customer of the day. The cat continues speaking. “In this drawer over here.” She flicks a black tail toward the drawer.

Pidge forces a smile. “Thanks, Ivy. Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’d actually organize the place,” Ivy replies. “That, or nothing. But I suppose that’s what a familiar is for. Keeping witches and wizards focused. If it weren’t for the likes of us, nothing would ever get done, let alone done properly.”

“I didn’t ask for your commentary, cat.”

Ivy bristles at her partner’s comment. Her green eyes flash with anger. “A cat?” she hisses. “I am more than a mere cat. I am your familiar, and I have lived more lives than you did or ever will, mortal.” With that, Ivy runs a rough tongue down her front leg, then stops at her paw. “Pidge, there’s someone here to see you.”

Pidge shoves a stopper into a narrow vial. “There’s always someone here. Humans who want their weed or a witch or wizard who want a mandrake root. Or in this case, a guy who wants to prevent turning into a werewolf entirely.”

Ivy’s whiskers twitch. “There’s something different about this one. Not quite magickal, but too magickal to be a mere human.” She peers at Pidge, who pays the familiar no mind. Ivy sighs and says nothing more.

* * *

After the werewolf-bitten man passes his ID and credit cart off to her, Pidge rattles off the side effects of the potion and leaves Keith (the name printed on his driver’s license) with a final warning: “It may not prevent the Change in full, but it will help ease parts of it.”

Keith grunts, which Pidge assumes is his way of saying “thanks.” The bell jingles as he leaves the store.

Pidge goes back to her book and waits for the next customer to come to the counter. She’s learned it’s best to let the customer come to her and inform her of what they need. The last thing she needs is accidentally giving a human a powerful potion instead of magickally infused pot. Some of the pot she infuses with magick helps chase away nightmares or create intense euphoria.

While some might say magickal infusions for humans are dangerous and deceptive, Pidge is quick to point out that she does not deceive anyone. If someone needs a blend that helps fuel creativity, Pidge will give them just that.

But when this customer approaches the counter, Pidge can’t tell what he is, exactly. He’s a tall, muscular man, wearing long sleeves in the middle of summer. The way he holds himself makes Pidge think he’s a military man—or _was_ in the military. His expression makes her certain of it. His steel-colored eyes swirl with waking nightmares. The bags beneath those haunted eyes make Pidge wonder when this man last slept. Weeks? Months? He looks older than he probably is. His hair must’ve once been all black, but the undercut is graying. And the fluffy white forelock somehow makes him look younger when the color should’ve done the opposite. A scar runs across his nose. Pidge wonders how he can breathe through his nose with whatever scarred him there.

Maybe he can’t.

“Are you Pidge?” he asks. His voice is unexpectedly soft and gentle.

Pidge nods. “That would be me. Is there something I can do for you?”

“I don’t know.” He seems a little twitchy.

“There’s a nice blend I have. I’ve been told it helps with nightmares,” Pidge suggests. “Very popular with some of the military folks who stop by.”

The man is taken aback at this. “I don’t smoke.”

“Edibles?”

He shakes his head. “Not my thing.”

Interesting. “You came to my store and don’t want pot.”

“Pot?” He tilts his head to the side. “I could’ve sworn the sign said potions.”

 _Very_ interesting. Pidge purses her lips in thought. “Who are you?”

“Takashi Shirogane. But everyone calls me Shiro.”

Pidge inwardly curses herself for being unclear. “No, who are you? Who sent for you? What are you? You’re human, but you… you can See.”

“Of course I’m human. What else would I be? And I’ve got 20/20 vision. I can probably see better than you.”

Pidge shoves her glasses up, as if they could hide her glare and less than perfect sight.

“No offense,” Shiro quickly amends.

Her mouth twists into a scowl. “Why are you here, Shiro?”

“I…” he hesitates. “You’ll think I’m crazy. Everyone else has, and I don’t know where else to go. It’s like… I… I was drawn here.”

Ivy saunters through the cat door Pidge installed. “Pidge, your tea is ready. Ah, and I see you’ve met that customer. A curious one, isn’t he?”

“Did that cat just talk?”

Ivy casts Shiro a wary glance. “I will let you get away with calling me a cat this once. It is in your best interest to not do it again.” She slips out of hearing range and into the back room through the little door.

“Ivy must like you if she let you get away with it that easy,” Pidge says.

“So that—“ Shiro stops himself from referring to Ivy as a cat. “I mean, she did talk. And you heard her, too.”

“Tell me, Shiro, do you like jasmine tea? Or are you more of a chamomile person?”

“Jasmine,” he says. “Why?” The counter vanishes before Shiro’s eyes.

“I can have Ivy make you some tea while you tell me what’s going on. I think both of us have questions, and hopefully we’ll both get the answers we seek.”

* * *

“For as long as I can remember, I’ve always been able to see things others can’t.” An emptied teacup rattles in Shiro’s shaky grip. “Growing up, I didn’t have a place I called home. I never met my father. My mother died when I was young. I bounced from household to household, never staying in one place for long. I’d wake my guardians up in the middle of the night, screaming and crying because of the things lurking in my closet. I refused to eat meals during the witner with my uncles and aunts because of the monster who hide beneath the _kotatsu_ ’s thick blankets.” He shivers. “My caretakers thought I had an overactive imagination. But by the time I was about ten or so, things got worse.

“They took me to see a specialist, thinking that there was something wrong with me mentally. I mean, what ten-year-old is afraid of sleeping in his own room?” Shiro manages a laugh, though it’s forced. It’s one of the saddest sounds Pidge has heard. “Well, I didn’t have schizophrenia or anything like that. And after so many tests and questions, I stopped telling people about the things I saw.” He looks up from his teacup and at Pidge. Her golden eyes meet his for a second. Something Shiro can’t quite place flickers in her petrifying gaze. “Tell me,” he says. “Is this real?”

Pidge sets her teacup down on a floating saucer. “It’s real, alright.” Her brows furrow. “It’s strange. You say you’ve always had the Sight, but it’s so rare for a human to have it.”

Shiro sinks back into his seat and hangs his head. “I know it’s not normal. And I can understand that you might not think I’m telling the truth.” He meets her gaze again. “I promise you, I am.” Shiro clears his throat and continues his story. “As if having this thing you call the Sight didn’t make my life hard enough, I think there’s something else at work here.

“Once I was old enough to go off on my own, I joined the air force. There’s something so freeing about the skies. I’ve always dreamed of having wings. And being a pilot was probably one of the closest things I had to that. But all these bad things kept happening to me. ‘Bad’ is putting it mildly.” Shiro rolls up his sleeve, which had covered up a robotic prosthetic. “No one else was injured in that bombing except me. It was almost like I was cursed.”

Pidge and Ivy exchange knowing glances. “You said you don’t know anything about your parents,” Pidge says. “It could be you aren’t human. Or at least not entirely. I’d guess you’ve got some magickal blood flowing in your veins.”

Shiro shakes his head. “If that were the case, then why haven’t I been able to cast a spell?”

“You can’t just cast a spell overnight. It takes years of training.”

“Don’t sound like such a know-it-all, Pidge,” Ivy says. “You’re barely a full-fledged witch yourself.”

Pidge scowls at this. “Oh, shut up.”

“What does this whole magickal blood thing have to do with me?”

“Surely you’ve noticed how all these creatures and plants sort of just… are here.” Pidge gestures around the room, from the levitating teacups and saucers to the talking cat curled up on her lap. “When you possess magickal abilities, you act as a magnet. Supernatural beings and events are drawn to you. It’s not necessarily my reputation that gets me vampires and werewolves as regulars around here. Tell me, why did you drop by here today?”

Shiro’s mouth opens, but no words or explanation come out of it. “I don’t know,” he finally admits. “I was walking around, and something told me I needed to be here.”

Pidge nods. “Exactly. It’s as you told me: You were drawn here. Humans don’t necessarily get that tug. They just think I make some nice blends. They’re drawn here by word of mouth. That, and my weekly email blast.”

“Okay, so I might have some magickal abilities, but that doesn’t explain all of the terrible things I’ve gone through. Am I cursed?”

“As I already said, all sorts of things are drawn to you. And since you haven’t had any training in the magickal arts, you make an easy target for less friendly beings. You don’t know how to set up wards or glamours. Cursed? No.” She strokes Ivy, who purrs contentedly. “I’d bet my bottom dollar you’ve just had some less-than-friendly spirits pull a few stunts.”

Upon hearing this, Shiro relaxes. Maybe it’s the magickal part of him—if any—that finds himself at ease around the strong herbal scents. Or maybe it’s the tea. “Could you teach me?”

Pidge’s shoulders go stiff at his question. “I don’t take apprentices,” she barks. “They’re too much work, and I’ve already got my hands full.”

“At least teach me how to protect myself from spirits,” Shiro says. Desperation claws his throat and strangles his voice. “Teach me how to create wards or whatever else you use. Please.” He gives Pidge a pleading look.

“Fine,” she huffs. “But that’s all you’re getting from me.” Bells chime at the front of the shop. “I’ve got more customers to deal with. I close early on Sundays. Come back then.”

“What time—”

“Read the goddamn sign on the door. I will see you at that time tomorrow.”

* * *

Ivy watches Pidge close up for the evening. “Katie?” she says.

“Don’t call me that, _cat_.”

Ivy remains unusually silent at Pidge’s barbed emphasis on “cat.” She stretches and flexes her claws. “You should consider taking him in as an apprentice. He’s years behind on training. And he does seem to have a considerable potential for magick.”

“I don’t take apprentices.”

“You mean you won’t,” Ivy says. “Just because of what happened with your brother—”

Images flash though Pidge’s mind: An explosion. His blood on her hands. Matt lying dead on the ground. Her fault. The apprentice’s fault. _My fault._

“That is enough, Ivy,” Pidge snaps. “This has nothing to do with Matt. Listen, I’m going to teach him how to put up protective wards. The rest he’ll have to figure out on his own.”

“I think you should reconsider,” Ivy replies mid-yawn. “And that is all I will say on the subject.”

* * *

Shiro’s stomach is twisted up in knots. He’s never met anyone like Pidge before in his life, and the last thing he wants to do is disappoint her. She didn’t want to teach him, but she was still going to teach him this one thing.

And yet, as she explains the process of creating a ward, all he does is disappoint her with each test run.

“Let’s try enchanting this stone _again,_ ” she says. According to Pidge, the best way to ward off evil is with a pendant. All it takes is a certain kind of stone, chain for wearing, and a chant. They’re simple enough to create.

Except for him, apparently.

Shiro stares at the rock she’d given him. Obsidian, that’s what she said it was. A round, smooth, pebble of obsidian. He holds the stone close to his heart and repeats Pidge’s instructed chant. He returns it to Pidge for inspection.

“It’s no good. Try again.” She bites back her impatience. Although she’s never had an apprentice, she’s never met anyone this incompetent.

Shiro, to his credit, tries again. And again and again and again. To no avail.

“Let’s try this another way.” Pidge presses Shiro’s hand against his chest. “We’re going to chant together on the count of three. One. Two. Three.”

The stone grows hot and crackles with energy at a rate Pidge has never seen. She can barely register what happens next. One moment, she and Shiro were working a spell. And now she’s knocked back against the wall, head throbbing.

Shiro rushes to Pidge’s side. “Are you alright? Can you hear me? Pidge?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” she hisses through gritted teeth. “What the hell happened?”

He wraps an arm around her petite waist to help Pidge stand upright. “When we finished the chant, the rock heated up. I don’t want to call it an explosion, but some force knocked you back into the wall.”

Pidge smiles weakly. “I think you just made a protective pendant.”

“No,” Shiro says, shaking his head. “I think we did.”

“That’s not possible,” Pidge says. “It’s not possible for two witches to combine powers.”

Shiro offers Pidge his pendant for inspection. The pitch-black stone flashes between two glowing colors: Green and purple. “Nature and air,” Pidge whispers.

“Sorry?”

“Witches have pure element-based powers. Mine happens to be nature. Green. And yours is air.”

“Pure?”

“We work with elements that are so pure that it is impossible to combine the two in one spell. You can’t stick air into a blade of grass, so to speak.”

“But we just combined nature and air elements into a protective pendant.”

“Yeah. We did.” Pidge swallows hard — and her pride. “I know I said I don’t take apprentices, but I might have to reconsider. It’s not official. Think of it as a trial period.”

* * *

Pidge continues to teach Shiro spells to the best of her ability. But it seems her pupil has no ability. He cannot work even the simplest of spells on his own.

Except when she helps him cast a spell. She’s better prepared for being blown away after the first time. That being said, it happens on more than one occasion. Though she’ll not say it aloud, a tiny part of her wishes to be blown back again, only for Shiro to whisk her up and away in his arms.

“Have you seen anything like this?” Shiro asks.

It pains her to admit it, but she has not. “I’ve never met anyone who can only use magick with another person.”

“Well, I’ve never met anyone who can use magick until now. So I guess we’re even.”

Pidge hopes Shiro can’t see her cheeks turning pink. “Yeah, I guess so.” She drops a dusty old spell book in front of him. “Now get back to work.”

“Pidge?” Ivy calls. “Customer’s here. Says he needs weed that helps him sleep easier. The no-nightmare stuff.”

Pidge swears under her breath. She’d been occupied with attempting to teach Shiro the basics of magick that she’d forgotten to prepare her stocks. “Um, tell him I’ll be there in a minute.”

Ivy sighs. “Can’t. Human.”

“I’ll do it,” Shiro says. “You go ahead and infuse that blend. I’ll keep the guy busy.”

“Fine, but make it quick.”

* * *

As it turns out, Shiro is not entirely useless. When it comes to casting a spell on his own, yeah, he’s useless. But in terms of customer service, Pidge couldn’t have asked for a better shop assistant.

He manages to smile and hold his tongue for even the rudest of customers. How he manages to stay calm in any situation is beyond Pidge’s understanding. He’s also a good hand with plants. While he doesn’t use magick to help them grow, he doesn’t need to. He waters hemp seeds and ensures they’re given enough sun exposure.

Maybe it’s not an apprentice she needs, but an assistant. When Pidge tells Ivy this, the familiar purrs with delight. “I think it would do you good to have some company. I do worry about you getting lonely.”

“You aren’t exactly the most sociable creature out there, Ivy,” Pidge counters. “I’m perfectly fine.”

“I keep with me the knowledge and company of many past lives,” Ivy replies. “I have no need for the company of a lover.”

Pidge’s jaw drops. “Ivy!”

“It’s obvious you care for him,” she continues. “And I approve of him. What more do you need?”

Heat rises to Pidge’s face. She wishes she could deny every word Ivy said, but she cannot bring herself to do so.

“There’s a deep magick that sparks between the two of you. It’s an old, forgotten power. The basis of everything that is and that will be. I think you know very well what that ancient magick is. It’s up to you to use it.”

* * *

Shiro finds himself seeking Pidge out more and more. And not just for lessons.

While she might have been right about magick acting as a magnet, he finds himself drawn to _her._ Not necessarily for her lessons or powers, but for _her._ Her rare crooked smile, her cute freckles, the way she pushes up her glasses and sasses her familiar. All of it.

Any free time he has is now spent with her, asking her questions about magick and spells and anything else he can think to ask.

“Hey, Shiro?”

“Yeah?” he asks.

“I’ve been thinking about things…”

Shiro’s mind leaps miles ahead. _She’s going to ask me out. We’re going to go on a date in a nearby coffee shop. Or go visit Pike’s Peak. No, no, no, the Garden of the Gods._

“…and I wanted to ask you to be my assistant.”

His heart sinks. “Oh.”

“Oh?” she repeats. “Are you not interested? You sound a little disappointed.”

A little disappointed? Oh, no. Very disappointed. “No, no, no, not at all!” He forces a laugh. Judging by Pidge’s odd expression, his fake laughter must’ve sounded just that: Fake.

“What’s the problem? I thought you wanted me to teach you, and I thought we could make it official.”

“There’s no problem. And that sounds great. It’s just…”

She raises a brow. “It’s just what, Shiro?”

His heart thunders in his chest. “It’s just that I wanted something more.”

“Something more? I don’t do apprentices.”

“I get that.”

Pidge raises a brow. “You’re not going to ask me about that?”

“I can tell it bothers you, and it’s not my place to ask.”

His earnest answer draws the words from Pidge’s mouth, as if by magick. “My brother. He took me on as an apprentice. There was an accident when I cast a spell beyond my strength. I should’ve listened to him, but I didn’t. He… he’s not dead, but he might as well be. He’s been in a coma for years.” She hangs her head in shame. “It’s not you being my apprentice that scares me. It is that I will make a mistake with your training.”

“You won’t,” Shiro says. “I know you won’t. You’ve learned, and you’ve grown from that.” He takes a deep breath. “But I didn’t think you were asking me about being an apprentice. I thought you were asking me to be something more than that.”

Pidge’s pale complexion darkens to a cherry red. “Something more? Like what?”

“Sorry, I went too far. Just ignore—” His words are swallowed up by her lips on his. Shiro reciprocates her kiss to the best of his ability. But he isn’t sure if he can do her kiss justice. He runs his fingers through her tangled locks. By the time he’s done, the two of them look disheveled.

“I think I’d like a boyfriend much more than an apprentice or an assistant,” she finally says. “But don’t think for even a second I’m going to stop our lessons.”

“Wouldn’t even dream of it.”

A pair of green eyes glitter with warmth. Ivy watches the couple and purrs in delight. Her mistress now knows the deepest, oldest magick in existence in its purest, simplest form: Love.


End file.
